Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again (50 page)

            “After
them,” he screamed, “I should have realized they weren’t just moving that
corpse without a good reason.”

            Meanwhile,
Jurgen and Mahmoud continued driving.  Jurgen pulled out a bottle of beer,
pulled off the cap between his teeth, drank thirstily and said:

            “Lucky,
we weren’t armed.”

            He
wiped away the foam that had stuck to his light-colored mustache and offered
the bottle to the driver.

            “Have
some, it’ll calm you.”

            “Not
now, just explain whose corpse did we try to clear from the road?”

            “Ah,
it was Nimar. He was the one, who fired on our convoy in the demonstrations a
few years ago when I was almost killed.”

            “Is
that so?”

“It’s interesting how he got killed
now.”

“Apparently, he was trying to deal with
Khaidar, who had no compunction about killing him.”

“What does it matter, as long as they
didn’t shift the guilt on us?”

From the rear, they heard the whine of
the police car siren and a voice on the loudspeaker called them to pull over to
the side.

“Oh, in the name of Allah and his holy
prophets, what now?!”

Jurgen caught fright and hit Mahmoud’s
hand as he yelled:

“Keep driving, don’t even think of
stopping!”

“Have you gone mad?! Where can we go?”
Mahmoud screamed, but pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator and the car
leaped forward, its tires screeching as it drove at great speed.

Mahmoud glanced quickly in the rear-view
mirror in front of him and when he noticed the barrel of a revolver sticking
out of the police car window, it was already too late.  Initially, two shots
were heard and nothing happened.  The car continued at a crazy speed, but the
shots that followed penetrated the rear window and pierced the back of his
neck.  His hands remained on the steering wheel and his foot still pressed
heavily on the accelerator, but he was already dead.

The car continued speeding wildly for a
few more seconds then suddenly rose up in the air, overturned and landed on its
roof.  The police car screeched to a stop and the two officers got out and went
to the overturned vehicle.  Their weapons were drawn and their fingers on the
trigger.

Now, Effendi had already crossed the
Czech-Italian border that only appears on maps. When he drove deeper into the
mountainous territory, he recognized that he was driving on Italian roads,
looking at colorful villages he passed through and understood he was under
Italian skies.

At six in the evening, his world was
turned upside down when he listened to the news broadcast.

At first he heard the report of the
incident in which two members of the “Kaukab” organization had been killed. 
Effendi cursed, understanding that his men had been caught and turned up the
volume of the radio.

“Two
members of a terrorist group were killed while attempting to escape.  The two
had been sent by a senior official of the organization to get rid of the body
of a member of the Revolutionary Guard he had killed.”

      
Effendi
gasped wildly and when the newscaster continued speaking, he understood
suddenly what great trouble his was in.

“The
senior member, who murdered the Revolutionary Guard, is Effendi Khaidar. 

He
is dangerous man, he is armed with weapons and bombs.

He
is driving to the Italian border in a silver-colored “Bentley” with the
registration number MS-102.

Anyone
noticing the vehicle is requested to report to any police station and will
receive a reward.”

            Effendi
slowed down and stopped on the roadside.  He doused his lights, switched off
the engine and sat to think.  He was confident that his details had been leaked
from within his organization. And now entered his mind that also this
assignment he was on was, in fact, a suicide mission that would destroy him.

            “Well,
what do I do now?” He addressed the emptiness around him in the car.

            His
first move was to get out of the car with a screwdriver and dismantle the
license plates, back, and front.  The next thing he did – was to call his good
friend, whom he trusted.

            “A’halan,
Abu-Rein, kef Halak?”  (Hello, how are you?)

            He
calculated that this clergyman, who had married Abigail and Karma, was
connected to many people and would be able to help him now.

            “All
is well, my friend.”

            “Ah,
ya'zalame (my friend).  I am stuck with my car and need another one.  I am
leaving it on the road to Italy, a few kilometers from the Czech border, near
the Fiano forest.” He explained, but then he heard Abu-Rein laugh and inform
him:

            “Yes,
I heard the news.  Listen, you’re a dangerous man,” and he didn’t see how
Effendi cringed in his seat.

            “Ahh,
it’s interesting who leaked my details.”

            “It’s
not important right now.” The clergyman responded, “Let me think it over and
call you back in a minute," and he called Mustafa immediately.

            “A’halan,(Hello),
listen, your man is a few kilometers into Italy, near the Fiano forest.  He is
asking for a different car instead of the one under surveillance.  He is as
wound up as a spring.”

            Mustafa
was momentarily silent, exhaled into the hookah pipe and watched how the liquid
made big bubbles in the bottle.  He talked slowly, thinking as he spoke.

            “I
can’t decide what’s more important right now. Should I get rid of him near that
forest or give him another car to continue with the assignment to kill the Kurd
and, in that way, get rid of both of them.”

            “If
you ask me, then, of course, I would say you should get rid of Khaidar and let
the Kurd carry on to the fate we planned for him.” Then he added with a guffaw:

            "That
Khaidar is a son of a bitch and I believe the Italian newscaster.  He really is
dangerous.”

            “You’re
right, so promise him another car so as to delay that snake where he is right
now and before the explosion.”

            “How
much more time does he have?”

            “Let’s
check.  It’s now almost six.  The bomb in his car is set to explode at half
past seven, but he thinks it is fixed to explode at a quarter past eleven.  In
other words, he is in no hurry/ So calculate the time and we are with you.”

            Abu-Rein
called Khaidar and heard the sound of panic in his voice.

            “Listen,
ya'Habibi (my friend), stay where you are, another car is being arranged and
will reach you within the next hour or hour and a half, okay?”

            “I
have no choice, my friend, my fate is in your hands,” was his response.

            This
conversation was heard by many ears.  The phones of Effendi and Abu-Rein were being
tapped by ‘Mossad’ surveillance and the recent event was causing a great stir. 
Clearly, they had to decide whether to intervene or allow the people to kill
one another.

            Foxy
called Barak.

            “Effendi
Khaidar is on the run and taking flight.  The Italian radio is broadcasting
details of his vehicle and the price on his head, non-stop.”

            It
seems that people from his own organization are out to get him and I wouldn’t
be surprised if they weren’t his close friends,” Barak stated and added:

“I suggest you come here with more
details, rather than speak on the phone,” and then he called Michael.

“Have you heard the latest development? 
By the way, what can you report on the ‘Noodle’s’ assignment.  Is there any
connection to what is happening to Khaidar?”

“Yes, I heard about the chase.  The man
is dangerous but under pressure and he’s on an assignment now.”

"What do you mean you said
that?"

Michael sighed. "He is smart and
when the mission is over, he'll finished with them the bill."

"I mean, you offer to let evil
destroy himself and not interfere?"

"Yes."

"Now, what happens with The
noodle?"

“Ah, as regards the ‘Noodle,' he is
waiting to board the ship ‘Ankara’ with the car on Saturday night.”

“You said that Effendi is also on a
job.  Do you know what he is up to?”

“Yes, he was given the same assignment as
the ‘Noodle.'”

“What, what?”

Michael paused before saying:

“Each of them has a bomb in his glove
compartment and they were instructed to plant it in the other car.”

A hard knock, followed by three softer
ones was heard at the door and San peered through the spyglass.  Zaguri entered
and thundered his usual loud greeting that was met with an angry glance from
San, who could not stand his humor or his manner.

“Hush, we’re talking to Michael,” San
explained, “they have put out a contract on Effendi and the media revealed the
details of the car he is traveling in.”

The radio device beeped and San looked
at it,

“It’s Michael, again,” he said and put
his earphones back on.

Michael spoke tensely,

“Listen, I received panic signals from
Timmy.”

“Where is he?”

“As far as I know, he is keeping watch
at “The King’s Hotel.”

Barak considered this for a few seconds
and said:

“Michael, I suggest
that you talk to Lucy and don’t forget to report back.”

On Friday morning, Timmy was captured by
two ‘Kaukab’ operatives.

A day earlier, Timmy had been
considering moving his location.  He knew that he should not remain in one
place for a long time and had considered changing it, but everything was
quiet.  His parking place afforded him an incredible vantage point and he had decided
to wait there one more day.  He comforted himself with the knowledge that Karma
was setting out on his assignment the following day and if they hadn’t noticed
him yet – nothing would happen in the few remaining hours.

On Friday morning, Timmy was woken in
panic by the ringing of his telephone, but it stopped.  He picked up the phone,
yawned loudly and got out of the car.

Outside the car, he stretched and his
mouth remained open in a broad yawn.  A pair of eyes watched him from the
nearby bushes and then the whistle of gunfire was heard and his leg was hit. 
When he bent down to his injured ankle, two men burst out of the bushes,
grabbed hold of him and dragged him to another car that was located two cars
away from his.

Tim groaned with pain, bent down and
pressed the panic button on his belt and a beep was transmitted to his father,
Michael, immediately.  It had been prearranged between them that he would do
this when he needed help.

Timmy did not give up.  He trod on the
shoe behind him with his healthy foot and tried to jerk his elbow up to free
himself from his captors.  But there were two of them and they held on to him
like a vise. He tore the buttons off his shirt and almost succeeded in slipping
out of it, leaving it in their grasp when one of them landed a blow on his jaw
and Timmy’s muscles slackened.  They dragged him to their car and threw him on
the back seat.  Someone got in beside him, pulled his hands behind his back
while the other man stuffed a folded rag into his mouth.

At
the scene of his capture, the buttons that had been ripped off the shirt he
wore lay scattered around the luxury car and his shattered phone was left lying
on the road.

*
* *

            Effendi
sat in his car, waiting for its replacement.  He gazed at the nearby forest and
tried to calculate his distance from “The King’s Hotel.” 

The
clock in the car pointed to a quarter past six, a quarter of an hour since he
had spoken to the Qadi.  He folded his arms behind his head and thought about
his situation.  He recalled Rulam telling him that the explosion was set for a
quarter past eleven and decided to peek in the glove compartment, just to check
it out.

            Effendi
pulled the black bag and when he opened the tie, he was struck dumb.  The dial
showed that it had been set for half past seven.  Now, he knew he was fighting
for his life.  In another hour and a quarter, the bomb would explode in his
hands. He straightened up in his seat and began trying to think things through.

            The
whole plan he had received – to board the ship, ‘Ankara’, which was probably
already anchored in the Gulf of Italy, on the Adriatic coast – was all rubbish
and nonsense.

            "How
I did not realize!" He said loudly and slapped his forehead.

            Another
point entered his mind.  If the clergyman had asked him at six o’clock to wait
where he was for another hour and a half – in other words, till the precise
time of the explosion, this must mean that he was one of those, who did not
wish him well.

He decided to take action.  First, he
turned the dial and changed the time of the explosion to half past eleven, a
quarter of an hour later than the time they told him.  Since he assumed that
someone would come and check whether the explosion had taken place, he decided
to abandon the car and sit far away to see what would happen.

Effendi cocked his revolver and returned
it to his pocket, closed the black bag with the bomb and hesitated but,
finally, decided to take it with him.

            The
wind blew between the tall tree trunks and Effendi went deeper into the forest,
treading on a carpet of leaves and feeling the chill.  He sat down on a stump
of a felled tree and rested his knapsack at its foot.

            Five
minutes later, he opened the bag to look for something to eat.  His hand came
up against a smooth coil and when he looked inside, he jumped back in panic. 
It was a striped snake that was rolled up and asleep, perhaps because of the
cold weather.  He almost decided to overturn the bag and chase it away when he
got an idea.  He closed the bag again and chuckled when he thought that he had
received a heaven-sent solution.  All he wanted was that the driver who came
with the replacement car would be one of the three men who had betrayed him.

            Time
passed very slowly and Effendi watched the disappearing rays of the sun and
darkness falling everywhere.

Effendi began dozing off as he leaned
back against the tree stump then suddenly opened his eyes.  He remembered that
the phone belonging to Oleg, the hitchhiker he had killed, was still in his pocket.

            “Great!”
he said and dialed on Oleg’s phone.

            Adel
almost swallowed his tongue when he recognized the voice of Effendi, his boss. 
For several weeks that he had disappeared and now he noticed that the also the number
Effendi was calling from was different.

            “Yes,
boss.”

            ”Are
you alone?”

            “Yes,
Boss.”

            I
saw how well you organize and execute important projects.”

            “Yes,
Boss.”

            “Stop
saying that” Effendi said to him and heard him say again,

            “Yes,
boss.”

            Even
Adel laughed when he caught on to how he had answered and he dared to ask his
master:

            “Where
have you disappeared to, Boss?”

            “Ah,
not now, it isn’t important.  Listen to what I am asking of you,” and he heard
that Adel was talking to him.

            “Have
you got a different telephone, Boss?”

            “Maybe
you shut up and listen ?!" Effendi said, getting angry.  “Tell Rulam,
Mustafa and Abu-Rein to go to the ‘Chai Huneh’ hostel on Thursday at eight
o’clock in the evening, and go to Room 202.  Can you remember that?”

            “Yes,
Boss,” he said quickly, “but do you mean that I should approach Ayatollah
Abu-Rein?!” His voice trembled in awe. “And tell him that you made the
request?”

            “No,
idiot, don’t mention my name to anyone.  Just inform them of the meeting and
then, call Abu-Rein and tell him who has been invited, so that he will agree to
go there.  Is that clear?”

            “Yes,
Boss!”

            Effendi
hung up at once to prevent him from asking anything more.

            It
was now completely dark.  A bird screeched, tiny fireflies flickered between
the tree trunks and the leaves above rustled in the wind.  Effendi shivered. 
He looked at the luminous hands on his watch and saw that it was seven
forty-five. He suddenly grasped that the replacement car had not yet arrived
and the bomb was supposed to have exploded quarter of an hour ago.

            Car
headlights appeared in the distance and Effendi tensed.  He grasped the straps
of the knapsack, wondering again if it was preferable to use the revolver in
his pocket instead of the snake that fell asleep in his bag.

            The
car slowed down and came to a halt beside his silent car.  Effendi strained his
eyes.  No one got out of the car and Effendi presumed that the man was
surprised that his car had not yet exploded.

            Effendi
got down on his hands and knees and progressed slowly.  He was cut by thorns
and stones and dragged his kitbag on the ground and got closer to the cars
under cover of dark. 

Rulam
was sitting in the car that arrived and he indeed stared in amazement at the
car in front of him.  He knew it was supposed to have been blown to smithereens
together with its driver a half-hour earlier and now he was busy talking to
Mustafa on the phone.

            “It’s
here, nothing happened to the car.  Everything is dark and Khaidar is nowhere
to be seen.”

            On
the other end of the line, Mustafa frowned.  He was smoking a hookah and
released a jet of smoke from his mouth, watching how it split into white strips
and left its aroma in the air.

            “Perhaps
he got tired of waiting?  What time did you arrange to meet?”

            “Half
past seven.”

            “Well,
really, it’s now ten past eight.  The bastard just got up and left.”

            “What,
don’t you understand, Mustafa?  The car is still here and didn’t explode.”

            The
door appeared to open and when he looked he noticed that indeed, it was
slightly open, but he didn’t attach importance to it and continued talking.

            “Mustafa,
that son of a bitch would not just get up and go without trying to call.  I
know him.

            “Fine,
I suggest you go to his car and come back and tell me what’s happening, okay?”

            “Listen,
I’m not sure it’s worth … oh, in the name of Almighty Allah and his Prophet
Mohammed, what’s this?!”  Rulam screeched.

            Just
then, something wound round his ankle, slid up his leg and rose up in the air in
his face, and shot its forked tongue out of its ugly strip of a mouth.  When Rulam
waved his arm in anguish, the snake attached itself to him and bit his cheek,
and when he tried to chase it away, it bit him again on his threatening arm. 
The telephone flew out of his hand and a voice called out of it:

            “What’s
happening there?  Hey, talk to me!”

            Rulam screamed with horror,
pushed the door open with his leg and went out on the road.  He kicked with his
feet trying to extricate himself from the snake that crept up to his shoulder,
twisted round and slipped down the length of his back, descended to the road
and disappeared into the dark.  Rulam raised his hands to his choking throat. 
He foamed at the mouth and his body squirmed wildly.  He felt his muscles
becoming paralyzed and a minute later he dropped on the ground and twitched in
his death throes.

            Effendi
got up off the ground but still kneeling, he peered into the car.  When he was
certain there was no one there, he went up to Rulam, who lay on the floor and
searched through his clothes.

            He
removed a revolver from one pocket and a folded piece of paper from another
but, was unable to read what was written on it in the dark.  He climbed into
the car and was able to read in the pale light inside it.

           
“
Thursday at
8,
202.”

            ”Flight
505,
Turkish Air, in
the name of Effendi Khaidar at
12.”

            He
frowned and tried to understand.

            The
first line was clear to him, because he remembered the message he had passed on
to Adel, but the second line frightened him.

            He
returned to Rulam, leaned over him, rummaged in his shirt pockets and on his
body and touched a crumpled paper bag that hung on a brown cord, tied round his
neck.  He pulled it off at once and hurried to the meager light in the car.  He
found two banknotes of 2000 Rials each, and an airline ticket in his name. 
Effendi tried to guess why Rulam had prepared an airline ticket to Iran in his
name and then, he noticed another paper bearing a small picture of Rulam.

            “You
planned to fly back, pretending to be me, you bastard?” he addressed the figure
lying on the road:

            “You
wanted to hide my murder, ah?”

            On
impulse, he pulled out the telephone that had belonged to Oleg, the passenger
he had killed, and hid it in Rulam’s pocket as he muttered:

            “Let
them think you killed him. It’s a fact, you took his phone.”

            He
closed the car door and put it in gear.

            When
he wanted to continue his journey to “The King’s Hotel”, he hit his forehead. 
Of course, there was no point to the assignment.  He had no car to exchange,
nor did he have a bomb for the identical car.  Then he remembered the bomb in
his knapsack that was set to explode at eleven thirty.  He took out the black
bag once more and put the clock forward.

            Effendi
was aware that if he wanted to survive, he had to kill all those you were
interested in his demise.  One was down.  He still did not know how he would
get to the second and third ones, but he did know that he was exhausted right
now.  He fell asleep in the car, his revolver cocked and ready to fire, beside
him.

            The
noise of a truck roused Khaidar and he sat up in fright and looked at his
watch.  It was a quarter past four and it was still dark all around.  He needed
to get out of the car to relieve himself and hesitated whether to take his bag
with him.  In the end, he slung the strap over his shoulder, got out and went
between the trees of the forest where he urinated. 

            Lights
drew closer in the distance and the screech of brakes was heard.  When he
peeped out from between the trees, he saw another car arriving and two figures
stepped out of it.  The two approached the car he had just left, opened the
driver’s door and got in.  Effendi breathed with relief, pleased that he had
got out of the car and that he had taken his knapsack with him.  Clearly, the
pursuit of him was still in high gear.  One of the figures stood facing the
headlights and Effendi saw the beard and the physical appearance he was
familiar with – it was Mustafa.

            He
still did not know who the identity of the second man with him was but presumed
that he, too, did not have his welfare at heart.

            He
sat down on the leaf-carpeted ground, the black bag, swinging on his arm and
when he looked at it, he got an idea.  That same bomb that the two of them
planned to kill him with – would kill them.

            He
opened the bag and set the clock to detonate the bomb at four thirty-five, in
another ten minutes time, and waited.

            The
two men were busying themselves around the car he had abandoned.  They climbed
in and out of it, opened and slammed the bonnet shut, got into the back, opened
the trunk and almost disappeared inside it.

Effendi moved to the edge of the forest then
got down and crawled on his stomach with the black bag tied to his left forearm
and dragging on the ground.

He progressed a few meters then stopped
to rest.  When he laid his head on the ground and breathed, he thought what bad
form he was in and firmly decided to continue the PT he had once done so
regularly to keep fit. 

When he raised his head, he saw that the
two had returned to their car, and he had another five meters to go.  Suddenly
the motor started and he knew they were about to drive away.  He quickly threw
the bag ahead of him and it rolled under their car.  Effendi got up and moved
towards the forest on his hands and knees, praying they would be delayed till
the explosion.